17 Jun 2007, ST
Tan Hsueh Yun
WHILE watching Sacred Monsters at the Arts Festival last weekend, I was struck by something that ballet superstar Sylvie Guillem said during the performance.
In one of those asides where she and fellow dance luminary Akram Khan chatted with the audience and with each other about all sorts of things, she told him how she still had a child-like awe about things.
What she said was that she still sometimes felt like a kid looking at a Christmas tree.
It's quite an achievement to still have that at the age of 42, which is how old she is. Quite amazing too, to still be able to create such poetry with her body, but that's another story.
What she said came as an unexpected reminder of a pact I'd made with myself years ago when I was a rookie reporter, to never get cynical about things.
I was listening to a conversation some colleagues were having, and one of them was, to put it gently, quite a downer. It was 'been there, done that and it sucked' and then some.
Shut up already, I thought uncharitably at the time. Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed then, I swore I'd never get that way. I wanted to be able to get excited about things, to feel giddy with joy sometimes.
I'd like to think I've still got that but I tell you, it's hard to hang on to it when some people in the industry I work in wear blase like a badge of honour.
Or to use a more updated metaphor, like hip-hop bling, something to be flaunted, used to make others feel gauche and somehow unworldly or unsophisticated. Most times, it works too, such is the power of blase.
I had a silent panic attack when during dinner post-show, I couldn't remember the last time I experienced the sort of awe Guillem talked about.
But later, when there was no distraction from food and conversation, it suddenly came to me. That moment had come on a hot Bangkok afternoon on Sunday, April 29.
A friend and I had gone to Aw Daw Kaw (pronounced Or Tor Kor), just up the road from the hellish Chatuchak weekend market.
It was Christmas, New Year, Chinese New Year, Mooncake festival and my birthday rolled into one. In this large market were row after row of fruit stalls, takeaway food stalls and hawker stalls.
I felt a bit light-headed walking down the narrow aisles, looking slack-jawed at the beautiful things on display. This wasn't the chichi Siam Paragon food hall but there was that same attention to detail. Everywhere I turned, I heard, softly but insistently: 'Eat me!'.
You could buy (and I did) peeled pomelo, each segment free of bitter pith, arranged prettily on styrofoam plates. Thai durian segments were wrapped in paper so you wouldn't need to dirty your fingers when you ate them.
I paused for a long while at the pork stall and admired the perfect rectangles of roast pork belly, each the size of an A4 sheet of paper and with crackling to die for.
That afternoon passed too quickly in a haze of eating interspersed with sighs of pleasure and cooling gulps of mud orange Thai iced tea.
How could I have forgotten that day?
This past week, I had a mini-moment when, on what I've come to regard as Woeful Wednesdays, I edited some copy that made me think that this job is worth doing. The pieces, which needed very little intervention, were unexpected gifts on a busy day.
So, having established that I've still got it, how do I keep it?
I wonder what the trajectory is. Does child-like awe fizzle out into more muted enthusiasm, which then morphs into indifference before mutating into blase?
If it does, how do you stop its progression?
I'm still trying to figure it out but I think one of the ways must be to surround yourself with like-minded people and to live consciously. This can be a struggle, especially when days blend into each other in a routine, mundane blur.
Being open to new things might help too, even if they carry a sting. And here I recognise that blase can also be a kind of armour against hurt and rejection. But losing the ability to be amazed is too high a price to pay for that hard, uncomfortable shell.
There's also something to be said about recalibrating the analytical chip installed in our brains so that it isn't cranked up to the hilt all the time.
So what did you think of the performance, I asked the friend I watched Sacred Monsters with.
Okay, came the reply. But some parts were too abstract.
Stop analysing, I wanted to say. Just enjoy it. Look at what they can do with their bodies. Isn't it magical?
Tan Hsueh Yun
WHILE watching Sacred Monsters at the Arts Festival last weekend, I was struck by something that ballet superstar Sylvie Guillem said during the performance.
In one of those asides where she and fellow dance luminary Akram Khan chatted with the audience and with each other about all sorts of things, she told him how she still had a child-like awe about things.
What she said was that she still sometimes felt like a kid looking at a Christmas tree.
It's quite an achievement to still have that at the age of 42, which is how old she is. Quite amazing too, to still be able to create such poetry with her body, but that's another story.
What she said came as an unexpected reminder of a pact I'd made with myself years ago when I was a rookie reporter, to never get cynical about things.
I was listening to a conversation some colleagues were having, and one of them was, to put it gently, quite a downer. It was 'been there, done that and it sucked' and then some.
Shut up already, I thought uncharitably at the time. Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed then, I swore I'd never get that way. I wanted to be able to get excited about things, to feel giddy with joy sometimes.
I'd like to think I've still got that but I tell you, it's hard to hang on to it when some people in the industry I work in wear blase like a badge of honour.
Or to use a more updated metaphor, like hip-hop bling, something to be flaunted, used to make others feel gauche and somehow unworldly or unsophisticated. Most times, it works too, such is the power of blase.
I had a silent panic attack when during dinner post-show, I couldn't remember the last time I experienced the sort of awe Guillem talked about.
But later, when there was no distraction from food and conversation, it suddenly came to me. That moment had come on a hot Bangkok afternoon on Sunday, April 29.
A friend and I had gone to Aw Daw Kaw (pronounced Or Tor Kor), just up the road from the hellish Chatuchak weekend market.
It was Christmas, New Year, Chinese New Year, Mooncake festival and my birthday rolled into one. In this large market were row after row of fruit stalls, takeaway food stalls and hawker stalls.
I felt a bit light-headed walking down the narrow aisles, looking slack-jawed at the beautiful things on display. This wasn't the chichi Siam Paragon food hall but there was that same attention to detail. Everywhere I turned, I heard, softly but insistently: 'Eat me!'.
You could buy (and I did) peeled pomelo, each segment free of bitter pith, arranged prettily on styrofoam plates. Thai durian segments were wrapped in paper so you wouldn't need to dirty your fingers when you ate them.
I paused for a long while at the pork stall and admired the perfect rectangles of roast pork belly, each the size of an A4 sheet of paper and with crackling to die for.
That afternoon passed too quickly in a haze of eating interspersed with sighs of pleasure and cooling gulps of mud orange Thai iced tea.
How could I have forgotten that day?
This past week, I had a mini-moment when, on what I've come to regard as Woeful Wednesdays, I edited some copy that made me think that this job is worth doing. The pieces, which needed very little intervention, were unexpected gifts on a busy day.
So, having established that I've still got it, how do I keep it?
I wonder what the trajectory is. Does child-like awe fizzle out into more muted enthusiasm, which then morphs into indifference before mutating into blase?
If it does, how do you stop its progression?
I'm still trying to figure it out but I think one of the ways must be to surround yourself with like-minded people and to live consciously. This can be a struggle, especially when days blend into each other in a routine, mundane blur.
Being open to new things might help too, even if they carry a sting. And here I recognise that blase can also be a kind of armour against hurt and rejection. But losing the ability to be amazed is too high a price to pay for that hard, uncomfortable shell.
There's also something to be said about recalibrating the analytical chip installed in our brains so that it isn't cranked up to the hilt all the time.
So what did you think of the performance, I asked the friend I watched Sacred Monsters with.
Okay, came the reply. But some parts were too abstract.
Stop analysing, I wanted to say. Just enjoy it. Look at what they can do with their bodies. Isn't it magical?
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